


betrayer

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, First War with Voldemort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Peter Pettigrew-centric, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter hadn't wanted to betray James and Lily. He hadn't wanted to see them die. So how did he turn traitor?
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous





	betrayer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! As my school is currently closed, I decided to finally work on some of my writing projects. This work takes a less antagonistic approach to Peter Pettigrew and tries to explore what may have led him to betray the Potter. English is not my first language, there will be mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

When he heard the resounding sound of cracking bones, Peter allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. He hadn’t screamed. This was already something, wasn’t it?

“Where are they?” the voice asked him, and he kept quiet once more. Even if he had intended to answer, he wasn’t sure he could have. His voice was long gone, it had disappeared some days – or was it weeks? – ago. “Where are they!? Say it!”

Peter kept silent. He hadn’t yielded, nor did he intend to. His Occlumency shields were still tightly closed, he knew, and this must have been why Dolohov (at least, he thought it had to be Dolohov) was so furious. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not known for his patience nor his kindness. He spared a thought for Sirius who was the one who had insisted upon Remus and Peter learning to protect themselves back then. It had been one of the few domains where Peter hadn’t felt as hopeless as he had been in his other classes.

“Crucio!” Dolohov yelled, his wand directed towards Peter and his mouth opened in a soundless scream as his body thrashed against the chains, his mind suddenly back to the current situation. Even when he knew it would only get worse, Peter couldn’t help his movements as he tried to dodge the hex, his hands creating a rattling sound as he desperately tried to ignore the pain. By the time Dolohov decided to temporarily stop the curse (Peter knew it would be upon him again soon enough), Peter was gasping for breath, fresh blood dripping on the stone floor.

“Pettigrew,” growled Dolohov, “this is your last chance. Tell me where they are.”

Peter looked at him before his lips curled upwards in what was hopefully a mocking smirk. Dolohov couldn’t kill him because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wouldn’t allow any piece of information on the location of the Potter to evade him. Dolohov, however, could be killed if he didn’t manage to get said piece of information.

“Crucio!”

Peter heard once more the curse and the searing pain spread yet again through his body. At least, it was the curse. He had found that its pain, no matter how awful it was, was more easily manageable than when they used more physical tools. At least, it didn’t last as long, even if the memories were as bad as when it happened.

No matter how painful it was, no matter what they did, Peter wouldn’t yield. He knew the Order must have been searching for him. His disappearance would have been noticed, there had been the Prewett and Dorcas with him when they were attacked. As long as he managed to endure the pain, it would be enough.

He ignored the other though in his head, the one that had been stronger and stronger as the days passed.

_What if they weren’t searching for him? What then?_

* * *

It had been a simple enough mission. They were simply scouting a possible location for a new headquarters. James had Lily to care for – they had recently discovered that she was pregnant, and he worried too much to let her out of his sights. Remus was still away with werewolves’ clans, trying to get information for the Order. Peter hadn’t seen him for months now. Sirius, for his part, had been amongst the main fighters. He disliked being part of the more passive teams, something Peter preferred.

Fabian and Gideon had been sent with Peter and Dorcas for a different reason. They had travelled together, but they were to disperse immediately at their arrival, and they wouldn’t be coming back together. Yet, as soon as they had Apparated, Peter had seen both of them suddenly jumping away as a stunning hex had hit him, taking him out before he even had time to realize what had happened. He could only watch with horror as more than half of their attackers took off after the Prewett while Dorcas tried to keep them away and get to Peter. When she fell, Peter wished he could have screamed because he had thought, maybe foolishly, that they would have kept her alive.

He had though, also maybe foolishly, that they would have killed him too.

Instead, he had been left alone with only one of them, still unable to move, until they had all come back with the sickening smell of blood on them. Peter had tried not to think what this might meant for the Prewett, especially when their leader had approached him and had laid a hand on his cheek, giving him a chilling smile.

“How glad I am to finally see you, Pettigrew. I have heard many things about you.”

Peter had somehow known, then, that he wouldn’t be killed. He had tightened his shields around his mind, waiting.

“Tell me, Peter,” Dolohov softly muttered, “where are James Potter and his mudblood hiding?”

And Peter had also known he would never answer.

* * *

He waited until the sound of footsteps had faded into darkness. Slowly, he tried to move his hands. He didn’t make big movements, afraid that the sound of the chains would alarm anyone, but he had to see which parts of his body he could use. Nobody would be coming for him, or if someone was, it would be too late.

Peter had to leave by himself, and possibly risk getting himself caught while doing so. He could make no mistakes. If they caught him before he got away, he feared what would befall him. Dolohov was already losing his mind. Peter had to get away.

He wriggled his fingers. He tried to slow his breathing. He closed his eyes and focused on his magic. He had to breathe. He had to feel it.

His wand was gone, probably broken. Thankfully, Peter had no need for it to make his escape, though it would have been easier with it. Animagus transformation was, after all, wandless magic.

His body shook. Sweat gathered on his forehead. He tried to ignore the pain of his broken bones trying to change, changing. He thought of the full moons they had gone through at Hogwarts. He thought of those times when Moony was angrier, of that time – some days after his mother’s death – where he had howled so much louder than usual and Peter had crashed through the furniture. He thought of how hard it had been back then and how easy it had to be now. He thought about how a few broken bones or open wounds wouldn’t stop him, he thought about how the cruciatus curse wasn’t currently being fired at him. Peter focused.

Eventually, he found his arms free, his body smaller, almost unnoticeable. He quickly scurried towards one of the walls, trying to restrain his frustration when he failed to notice any holes he could escape through. After making sure there truly was none, his gaze fell on the gaps between the cell bars. He wasn’t afraid of not passing through. He knew he could. He was afraid of what laid beyond.

Come what may, he advanced towards it. His limbs had been aching while in his human body, but now, they were burning. It was only through sheer will that he managed to cover the distance, get out of his cell and starts climbing the stairs. He flinched at every sound, convinced that it was the sign of someone who would discover his escape, the sound of his downfall. Yet, by the time he managed to get to the next floor, nobody had noticed yet. Peter allowed himself a sigh of relief.

He could see a window not far away. With one last look around him, he quickly advanced, got outside and climbed down. He didn’t bother looking back before leaving the ground and disappearing in the street. Now, he was almost safe. If he managed to figure out where he was, he’d be able to safely get to one of the Order’s safehouses or contact someone. But first, he had to vanish from this place. He already knew exactly where he would be able to disappear, where no one would want to seek him – or if they did, it would be with a great deal of reluctance.

Peter disappeared in the sewers. It never occurred to him to wonder why Dolohov would have a manor in Muggle London.

* * *

Maybe he should have thought his plan better. Running around in the sewers had never been a problem before. Running around with open wounds (they did not miraculously vanish when he transformed, even if some of them like his bones had seen the damage temporarily reduced) in the sewers, however, was a bad idea. Peter should have thought better, because he knew he was currently running too high a fever and he hadn’t yet managed to locate a shelter to rest for the night. He had been forced to return to his human form and, while no one was looking, had stolen some clothes that had been drying outside. He used them to cover himself, hiding his face and wobbling on his legs as he faltered more and more. After taking back his human form, he had tried to heal his worse injuries, but even this had its limits. Peter was far from being a prodigy, and while being an unregistered Animagus did allow him some advantages about how wandless magic worked, he was by no means a genius. If anything, he worried he might have worsened some of them. His legs gave up and he suddenly found himself falling. He tried raising his hands, tried to catch something, but hands were suddenly under his arms, supporting him. Peter stifled a gasp as one of the hands grasped his broken arm (he really hoped it was only a broken arm).

“Are you alright?”

A soft voice spoke above him. Peter didn’t recognize it. He raised his head, trying to catch the appearance of the person holding him.

“Who…?” he mumbled.

“My name’s Clara,” the voice answered. “My apartment’s not too far from here. I can help you there.”

Peter wanted to protest, but the idea of someone helping him after what he went through was tempting. He knew he shouldn’t trust the person, but he was exhausted. He tried walking, somewhat aware of the direction he was being taken to, but his knees gave up. His vision blurred, and darkness surrounded him.

He had no more strength to use.

* * *

He didn’t know how much later he woke up. He only knew he opened his eyes still free, still out of Dolohov’s clutches. He was in a bed, white strips covering most of his body. He groaned when he tried to sit up, pain flaring through his body. Yet, it was almost welcome. This kind of pain was nothing compared to what he went through in the last days.

“You’re awake?”

This time, he recognized the voice as his benefactor’s (there was no other way to say it). Peter raised his eyes and quietly observed the girl. He couldn’t say she was old, at most sixteen years old. Her brown hair was flowing freely on her shoulders while her eyes – brown too – were looking at him. She was wearing a T-shirt and back pants with some coloured socks. Quite frankly, Peter couldn’t help but think she looked…normal. Like a normal Muggle teenager. Yet…she had saved him, hadn’t she?

“I don’t know if you remember but I found you in the street, not too far from here,” she started speaking, apparently mistaking Peter’s curiosity for suspicion. “I had some…medication my brother had left behind last time he visited, so I think you should be better now. How’s your arm?”

Peter tilted his head, lost. Still, he tried lifting his arm and was pleasantly surprised to see it moving with apparently no difficulty. Something that should have been impossible without the use of spells, or at least, of potions. He narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“Are you a muggle-born?” he asked her. To his surprise, the girl shook her head negatively.

“My brother was,” she told him. “You’re a wizard too, aren’t you?”

Peter simply nodded, before asking another question. “Why did you help me? Didn’t you think I might hurt you?”

He was thankful to her. At the same time, he couldn’t understand her motives. The girl – Clara, he suddenly remembered – shrugged.

“You were in pain,” she simply said, as if it explained everything. “I saw you, and I knew I could help you. Isn’t it good enough a reason?”

“Maybe,” sighed Peter, still confused. “Maybe it is. How long was I asleep?”

“Five days. Are you feeling okay now?”

The girl was looking at him with worried eyes. Peter couldn’t help feeling a sharp pain when he looked at her. The more she worried, the more he felt sick.

How was it that a muggle girl he had never met before had helped him more than the Order he had sworn his life to, than his best friends?

“Mister?”

“I’m fine,” he told her, forcing a smile on his lips. He wasn’t used to people, especially girl, giving him attention. “I should leave now; I can’t impose myself more than I already have.”

“Really?” she asked, eyeing him dubiously.

“Me being here alone is a danger for you. I’ll be fine, you shouldn’t worry,” Peter assured her. “Clara…”

“Yes, mister?”

“You might not understand what it means, but I owe you a Life-Debt. This is an undeniable fact. If you ever find yourself in difficulty, if you ever see me again… say my name. I’ll help you.”

Peter did not take life-debt lightly. He had already seen the consequences when Severus Snape had owing one to James. But the girl… she _had_ saved him. He wanted to do something for someday, if possible. She would deserve it.

“Your name?” she repeated.

“Peter Pettigrew,” he told her before getting up, taking the clothes he saw not too far away, and giving her one last nod. He was about to reach the door when she stopped him.

“Wait, Peter!”

“What is it?”

She handed him something. A wand, Peter realized. He looked at her, startled.

“You need one, right? Take it. It belonged to my brother. And…that man. You-Know-Who. Stop him. Please.”

Peter raised it slowly with shaky hands. He gave one last look to the girl. Suddenly, she didn’t seem as young, she didn’t seem as naive. “I promise.”

He owed her his life. Two times rather than one.

* * *

With the clothes Clara had given him, Peter managed to lose himself in the crowd. His wounds had been safely taken care of, and while their treatment could have been better, it had still been a treatment. He had waited until he was back in a dark location, hidden from people’s eyes, before casting the spell.

He thought of his years at Hogwarts. He thought of Remus laughing and of James and Sirius playing another one of their pranks. He thought of the smile James had had when Lily had finally agreed to go out with him.

“Expecto Patronum,” he muttered, and he watched as the flicker of silver light coming out of the wand slowly formed itself into a crow that quickly flew away.

Now, Peter could only wait and hope. Before leaving, he had asked the date to Clara. It had been two months. Two months since he had been captured.

Why hadn’t anyone come to save him? And if they thought him dead, how would they react?

Two months.

Peter had been held in this place for almost two months and nobody had known. It must have been that nobody had known, because he couldn’t believe they wouldn’t have tried to get him back if they had known.

Yet… how could they not have known? They knew he had been gone with the Prewett and Dorcas. They knew the three others had died. They knew he was loyal to the cause.

So why hadn’t they come?

The more he thought about it, the more unsettled Peter felt. Had he been…left behind? He quickly shook his head. It was impossible. He was aware some members despised him, but James and Sirius would never do such a thing. They were best friends. Even if Peter sometimes couldn’t trust some of their allies, he would always trust James and Sirius. They were best friends, brothers.

“Wormtail?” a voice shakily asked him, startling him out of his thoughts. How far gone had Peter been not to notice it?

“Hey Padfoot,” he smiled tentatively. “How have you been?”

Sirius didn’t answer. Instead, he simply advanced and crushed Peter against his chest. Peter noticed that Sirius was shaking.

“Padfoot?” he asked softly. “Sirius?”

He was right; Sirius couldn’t have known Peter had been held. Sirius had to have thought Peter had been dead.

“You’re alive, Wormtail. You’re alive. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“It’s alright, Padfoot,” Peter reassured him. “I’m fine.”

Sirius never would have left him there if he had known.

He wouldn't have.

Never.

* * *

James’ reaction had been similar to Sirius’ own when he found out, when Sirius brought him back. Peter tried to smile for him. He didn’t like it when James and Sirius were like that. He didn’t want them to feel guilty. He did tell them about what had happened to him, but he gave few details, still too shaken up about what had happened.

And time went on.

When James and Lily had to go into hiding, they thought about who they wanted as their Secret-Keeper. James asked Sirius first. James held all his friends close, but they had always known Sirius was different. If they were James’ brothers, then Sirius was his twin, his second half. It had always been James and Sirius before the others, before Remus and Peter. They knew, and they accepted it. James asked Sirius and Sirius refused.

“Everyone expects it to be me. Everyone will come for me. Let me be a decoy,” Sirius said. “Ask Peter.”

James knew Peter had undergone torture under the Death Eaters. He knew Peter had not yielded. He knew Peter would never betray them, and he knew Peter’s Occlumency had bested Dolohov. Peter had few talents, but his talent in Occlumency might even be better than Sirius’. So, James agreed.

Peter agreed. Of course he did. Anything to protect his friends. Anything for them. Anything.

Except himself.

He was caught once more.

He was tortured once more.

He was left alone once more.

When Peter wondered if this time, he wouldn’t manage to escape, his decision had already been taken. When he wondered if, yet again, nobody would come for him, his mind was made. 

Peter was afraid, and he yielded. He whispered a single line, and this single line was enough

The rest became history.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. About Peter's talent in Occlumency: in canon, nobody ever suspected him. I know Dumbledore doesn't spend his time in people's mind, but I still found it questionable that he would accept Peter on the basis of him being James and Sirius' friend, without taking more precautions. What's to stop him from taking a quick look and making sure Peter could be trusted?  
> 2\. About Peter's torture: the Potter and the Longbottoms are both ennemies to the Dark Lord, having survived three times to confrontations with him. As such, I think the death eaters would be more interested in them. Peter was well-known to be their friend in Hogwarts, so he's more interesting if they want to discover where they are. Also, since he can use occlumency, death eaters know there is a possibility for Peter to possess key information.  
> 3\. About Peter betraying them: he was traumatized. Last time, he escaped by miracle and nobody ever came to look for him. How can he be sure it won't happen again? Since his escape, they would know to take more precautions. Because they know he's also the Secret-Keeper (I know, in canon, he betrayed them before that), what's to say it won't be Voldemort himself who tortures him? Torture is worse than death (yes, the author ignores canon. Whatever.)  
> 4\. About Clara: I just wanted Peter to show a nice personnality (not any particular reason other than that)  
> 5\. About Peter's patronus being a crow: as a spirit animal, the crow is sometimes associated with a trickster, someone who deceives others with his appearance.
> 
> So thank you for reading, and have a nice day!


End file.
